


That Which We Call a Rose

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [14]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, References to Past Self-Harm, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Undertale Reset Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Stretch has been going through a bad time.





	1. Chapter 1

_it always happened this way_

_he’d seen it too many times. his brother with his hands outstretched, offering friendship, caring, love_

_and becoming nothing more than dust and LV, and there was nothing Stretch could do to stop it_

_everything would go on the way it always did, the death, the dust, and his little brother that he failed, failed to protect, failed to avenge, and in the end, failed to care_

_because it didn’t matter, it never mattered. he’d wake to his brother calling his name and the taste of his own dust still fresh in his memory._

_and his brother, his brightness dimmed by soft worry, ‘what’s wrong?’_

_he knew what he’d see, he’d seen this before only it wasn’t his brother’s voice it was_

_no._ No

_no, this wasn’t how it happened. Edge had been in Underfell, he’d never seen their Frisk, their Frisk with insanity in his eyes, he’d never turned to dust, no_

_he knew what dust felt like powdery and gritty between his fingers_

_he could feel hot tears on his face_

“Stretch?”

_tears, yes, and he remembered dust, he remembered, and a thin sound came from somewhere, like a whine_

“Rus?”

_rising, the sound was rising into something like a scream and_

“Rus!”

_he can’t hear it over the screaming and_

_“PAPYRUS!”_ Hands on his shoulders shook him so hard his head snapped back painfully. Stretch felt a sharp pain as he bit his tongue, tasting the brightness of his own magic. 

He struggled weakly, trying to get away from those hands until he realized they weren’t hurting him. A light snapped on and there was a face in front of his own. He stared for a long moment, uncomprehending, caught up in the dusty strands of memory. 

“edge?” he said finally, hoarsely. Speaking made him cough and he could taste magic again, his throat sore from screaming.

Edge was pale, and it was strange to think how much their magic colored them, lent life to their bones. Right now, Edge was bone-white. It made him look like—

_dust_

\--like a cheap special effect from a terrible Halloween movie.

Pale as he was, he nodded firmly, “That’s right, I’m here, I’m right here, love, you’re here.”

“here,” Stretch repeated it like he didn’t quite understand the word. His voice sounded raw and used, his throat ached.

“Here,” Edge repeated, almost too loudly, but the sound helped ground him. His hands were gentle, restless, moving over Stretch as if they couldn’t decide where to light. “I have you. I have you right here.”

“here,” Stretch said it again, this time with relief. 

Slowly, he calmed and some distant part of himself felt a sense of grief that he could feel Edge trembling. He’d scared Edge out of his own sleep screaming, of course he was fucking shaking. He could still smell his own sweat, his own fear, sour and thin.

“All right,” Edge pulled away a little. “Let me get you a glass of water…”

“don’t leave me,” Stretch blurted, clinging to him and he could almost feel Edge’s flabbergasted bewilderment, but he couldn’t help it, panic rose at the thought of Edge leaving him alone.

“Love—” 

“please,” he begged, he hated begging, he fucking _hated_ it, but he couldn’t stop.

“Hush,” Edge said softly, “Hush, I’m not going anywhere. Come on.”

Stretch yelped a little when Edge picked him up, blankets and all, and it was embarrassing as all hell, and yet, he clung guiltily as Edge carried him to the kitchen. Gently, Edge set him down at the table in a bundle of blankets and got him a glass of water.

He drank it greedily. It soothed his aching throat and Stretch distantly wondered why. ‘Magic’ was too easy an answer. They didn’t know as much about skeleton physiology as they should and none of them had been willing to experiment with it since they’d come to the surface. He and the Sanses had had more than enough of that, thank you.

Edge sat opposite him, watching him drink. When the glass was empty Edge stood and wordlessly filled it again. He waited until Stretch finished the second glass before he spoke again.

“What’s going on?” Edge said bluntly. “This is not like you.”

Stretch averted his eye lights, focusing on his own hand still wrapped around the empty glass. “i’m just going through a bad time.”

He dared to look up and guilt crawled up his spine; for the first time since he’d moved in, he wished he wore pajamas. Edge was looking back at him and the weight of his disappointment was palpable. “Don’t lie to me. I try to be as understanding as I can, so please don’t lie.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, and Edge gently took his hand away from the glass, holding it between his own. 

“Rus,” Edge said slowly, as if he was choosing his words with great care, “this isn’t depression, this is flat out avoidance. You’ve even been avoiding me. Have I done something that’s upset you?”

“no,” Stretch shook his head, “of course not.” He always got a stupid little tingle when Edge called him Rus. He’d been Stretch for years now and what the fuck did it matter? It was only a nickname but one he’d allowed when he didn’t care about anything, much less what anyone called him.

Edge hesitated, his thumbs stroking softly over the back of Stretch’s hand. “Is it about the wedding?”

That made him blink, “what?”

“Love, I know this all sort of fell into place, but if this isn’t what you want, you don’t need to force yourself to go through with it only because you don’t know how to back out.”

“no,” Stretch said desperately, because fuck, this was spinning out of control, and where the fuck was Edge getting this from? “no! i…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, all right? i want to get married, i do.”

“Then it’s something else,” Edge sighed, “This is your third nightmare this week and you haven’t slept well for far longer than that.”

Well, so much for thinking he was fucking hiding anything. Stretch pulled his hand free, automatically reached for his lighter and of course he didn’t fucking have it, he didn’t even have clothes. 

“i want a cigarette,” he said, petulantly, because that was the way he was, and Edge was so much better than him, even back when Stretch thought he was nothing more than a thug, he was better, he was--

“It can wait,” Edge said, a touch sharply. “I want to talk about what’s going on.”

No, _no_ , Edge never pushed him, he didn’t, he— “i…” Stretch trailed off and swallowed hard. “i’m going through a really bad time.”

“Then let me help you,” Edge said, and Stretch would have had to be deaf not to hear the pleading in his voice, he _wished_ he was deaf, “Would you talk to me?”

Stretch looked away, looked at the table, at his own hands, fingers twisted together, clenched together, and wished desperately for a cigarette, just add it to all the other wishes he wasn’t going to fucking get, may as well ask for a goddamn pony while he was at it. He didn’t say it, but Edge seemed to hear the worlds he didn’t speak.

_i can’t_

The chair scraped the floor with a sharp squeal as Edge stood up and Stretch winced, watching in silence as he turned away, visibly struggling with his temper and Stretch waited for him to say he was going out, for a walk, for a drive, that he needed to leave.  
A minute ticked by, two, and Edge only leaned against the counter. He turned back and Stretch dared to look at him; he wasn’t angry, but his quiet disappointment was so much worse.

“I want you to speak to a professional,” Edge said, low. 

“what?” Stretch sat up straight, snatching the blanket back up when it fell off his shoulder. “fuck that, no! i’ve been doing fine!”

“You have been, you’ve been doing wonderfully,” Edge agreed. He kept his arms crossed over his chest, stayed leaning against the counter. “Only a few bad days here and there for a long time but this is something else. It’s been going on for too long. You haven’t been sleeping well, you’ve had nightmares all week and don’t think I haven’t noticed because you’ve been sneaking out to sleep on the sofa.”

“no,” Stretch only shook his head.

“I know for a fact Sans gave you his therapist’s card.”

“since when do you want me to take advice from _sans_?” Stretch snarled and fuck this, fuck everything. He didn’t need this shit and he’d thought Edge fucking _understood_. 

“Since Sans took upon himself to get help,” Edge said calmly. “He did and he’s better for it. If you can’t talk to me then you need to talk to someone more qualified.” He kept his eye lights on Stretch, his gaze steady and strong. “Promise me that you’ll go, or I’ll postpone the wedding.”

“what?” Stretch went cold, his soul sinking, “you can’t.” It was less than a month away, Edge had been planning everything to the last detail, he couldn’t just cancel it, he couldn’t.

“I believe you’ll find I can and I will,” Edge said sharply. He closed his sockets and inhaled slowly, exhaled, softening his voice. “You do realize this isn’t just about you? I can’t stand to see you like this. You need help that I can’t provide.”

Stretch scrubbed a hand over his face, too harshly, bone scraping bone, “just give me a week, okay?”

“All right,” Edge said calmly and Stretch relaxed. “I’ll give you a week. I won’t ask questions, I won’t force you to talk. No ultimatums, so long as you promise me at the end of that week, if things aren't better you will go talk to that therapist.” 

That lit a spark in his own temper, Edge knew how he felt about promises, he knew and…that was exactly why he was asking. Stretch exhaled, slowly, and said through gritted teeth. “i promise.” 

That was fine, that gave him a week to get a handle on things. He had this.

“All right, then,” Edge sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging tiredly, and Stretch swallowed again, looking down. “Do you want to go back to bed?”

He didn’t, but Edge needed to work in the morning and—

Softer, “Why don’t we watch a little television, instead?”

Gratefully, Stretch nodded. He should have gotten up and walked to the damn sofa; what he did was allowed Edge to pick him up again, his little swaddling boyfriend, no, his fiancé, they were engaged, goddamn it. Wrapped him tighter in their comforter and settled him on the sofa before joining him. He was warm and a little heavy, resting his skull on Stretch’s chest and neither of them were watching Masterchef, not really.

“don’t leave me,” Stretch mouthed against Edge’s skull, silent and unheard.

“I would never,” Edge whispered back to him, because Edge knew him, he knew him so well. Stretch closed his sockets, wishing for it to be true.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The office was tidy and elegant, with real art on the walls rather than prints. There were two loveseats in the waiting area and one corner of the room contained a large, mahogany desk, empty of occupant. The overall effect was one of opulence and, not for the first time, Edge wondered how Sans had come across this particular doctor.

The wall opposite of him held a door and that was where Stretch and the doctor had gone, leaving him here with the wifi and his laptop, nothing to do but work as he waited. 

He was clearing up his work schedule, which he’d planned to do anyway with the wedding looming, but now he wanted to spend a little more time at home without seeming as if he was hovering. Be there if Stretch needed him and he could stay out of his way if he didn’t.

Hopefully, Stretch would admit which it was. 

For the past week, Stretch had been a shining example of put togetherness. When Edge returned from work every day, the house was as spic and span clean as Stretch ever managed; if he’d left any requests for the day, be it laundry or putting dinner in the oven, it was done, the chickens cared for, the bed made, and Stretch nearly determinedly happy to see him. 

In a word, unconvincing.

The card house of it all had collapsed with another nightmare and Edge had only soothed him through it without question. 

The next day Stretch dug out the business card Sans had given him and deliberately called the number right in front of Edge, clearly resentful, and made an appointment with clipped words. They’d gotten him in the very next day which made Edge wonder what precisely Sans had told them.

Not fifteen minutes later Stretch had been curled up in his lap, obviously trying to communicate that he was angry and resentful, but he still loved him. Not that Edge needed the reassurance. If there was one thing he didn’t doubt in all this it was Stretch’s feelings for him, but still. It was nice to have it confirmed. 

That left him here, in the waiting room with his laptop, and his own concerns churning in his soul. It didn’t matter what happened, really; whether it came that the therapist was unable to help or if she was. Either way, they would go home and carry on together. But he couldn’t not try, it was too painful to see his lover with dark shadows beneath his sockets, to listen to him scream from his nightmares. Something was pushing his normal quiet depression into whatever this was and if it could be helped, Edge was willing to try whatever was necessary.

This was the right choice, he told himself. It was.

Exactly one hour after the door had closed, it slammed open hard enough to bounce off the opposite wall. Stretch stormed out, completely ignoring Edge and walking out the door. Edge exhaled slowly. Well, that hadn’t been excruciatingly painful to see.

He packed up his laptop slowly, lingering, and eventually the doctor came out. She looked surprised to see him.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asked politely. Dr. Lee, a clinical psychiatrist, specializing in PTSD. He’d researched her credentials thoroughly before even allowing Stretch to walk through the door. 

“Yes,” Edge said, returning her politeness in like. “I’d like to know how he is.”

Her expression turned to one of bland sympathy. “I’m afraid all my sessions are confidential.”

“I’m his partner,” Edge said evenly. Soon to be spouse. 

“I am aware of that and I’d tell you the same if you were a parent or a sibling.” There was a thread of steel in her voice that normally Edge would appreciate. Not in this situation, not now.

Frustratingly, he already knew this anyway; he worked with troubled children and while he was hardly a therapist himself, he’d had some training as a way of ensuring he was able to reassure the children who did seek help. 

It didn’t make it easier to hear.

Enough of dancing around the topic, he may as well ask the question he truly wanted answered. “We are getting married in three weeks.”

Again, she was blandly neutral, her expression gave nothing away. “Congratulations.”

It had been a long time since he’d wanted to hurt someone as much as he did this woman. He wanted to shake her and demand answers. “I’m not sure if we should.”

“Why?”

Edge resisted the urge to tell her _he_ didn’t need a therapist. “He hasn’t been doing well. Is this the right time to be making that step?”

“I can’t answer that question.” Some of her steel melted into gentleness, “I can say that people with depression and mental health issues can and do get married all the time. I’m sure it’s something we will discuss and a choice I may help him with, but I won’t decide for either of you.”

Well, at least he could see why Sans had chosen this woman to trust with his secrets.

She went to the empty desk and pulled out an appointment card, neatly writing in a time and handing it to Edge. “I’d like to see him again on Thursday.”

“Twice in one week?” Edge frowned, glancing at the card.

“Is that a problem?”

He shook his head. No. It wasn’t a problem for _him_.

She leaned against her desk. “I’d like to spend a little more time with Papyrus to get to know him better, establish trust.”

Good luck with that. Wait… “He let you call him Papyrus?”

“Yes? He requested that I do.” She was already reaching for a notepad, scribbling hastily. “It’s also listed on his paperwork.” She looked up at him over the rim of her glasses. “Is there an issue with that I should know about?”

“I’m not sure,” Edge admitted. Stretch had left his name as Papyrus on all his paperwork when they’d come to the surface. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time but then, they had barely been on speaking terms. His own paperwork listed him as Edge, he’d abandoned the name Papyrus before they’d ever seen the sun. “Did you tell him that you wanted to see him on Thursday?”

“I did,” she said, again, carefully bland.

Edge sighed. “Can I assume that explains his exit?”

She smiled wryly. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for. She’d only spoken to Stretch for an hour and from the look of things, he’d been spectacularly unhelpful. Edge could only bring him to the door, what happened past it was beyond his control.

“I’ll bring him,” Edge told her firmly.

“You can’t force him,” she said softly. “All that will get you is resentment and a bill.”

Edge bit back the words he wanted to say, the profanity burning unspoken and only nodded curtly and followed his lover’s path out the door, albeit a little less forcefully.

Stretch was already in the car, staring out the window. On the dashboard there was a clutter of wadded up papers, scattered as if they’d been thrown. 

“What’s this?” Edge picked one up, smoothing the paper.

“buncha shit i don’t need.”

“Odd, they look like prescriptions.” 

“that’s what i said.”

“Love—“ Edge began, and he knew what he was going to say. About understanding how difficult this was, about how it had helped Sans, they all knew it had. About the simple fact that it was because he cared so much that he wanted Stretch to at least try. He had made a spreadsheet listing his reasons and calm, rational ways to explain them and every one fled his thoughts as he watched a quiver run through Stretch, another, until he’d curled in on himself and tears were streaming down his cheekbones.

Wordlessly, Edge pulled him close and held him while he cried. 

“please don’t make me come again,” he whimpered. “ _please_.”

Edge held him but didn’t say anything.

The tears dried up eventually and Stretch pulled away from him, angrily wiping at his face with his sleeves. Distantly, Edge was grateful that the stains would disappear as the magic dissolved. Stretch loved that shirt.

He felt a little cold, a sort of numb weariness settling into his soul. He had no doubt that tears were real, but he also knew Stretch wasn’t above using the tools that he had to get the results that he wanted.

Numbness quickly faded into surprise when Stretch opened the car door. “What are you doing?”

“i’m taking the bus home.”

“Don’t do this…please.”

He wasn’t sure if Stretch heard him over the door slamming. The temptation to follow him, either on foot or in the car, was overwhelming. Edge resisted it and let him walk away. Stretch was an adult and he took the bus everywhere in this blasted city. It wasn’t going to hurt him to take the bus home—

_Except for the time it almost had, it was only once, it only took once_

—and it would give them both a chance to cool off. Edge sighed. Or a chance for both of them to stew about it and get up a good head of steam for a real argument at home. Either option was possible.

It would be fine, Edge told himself and started the car. Another visit, perhaps two, would convince him that this was necessary and if it didn’t, then he would stop pushing for it and they would simply deal with this as they had every other problem life at thrown at them both. He’d dealt with so much worse, they both had, but just this once he was hoping for a better solution than simply surviving.

Stretch’s happiness was not too much to ask of the universe.

He stopped on the way to fill the prescriptions, wandering through the pharmacy idly while he waited and ignoring any sidelong glances Humans sent his way as he wandered down aisles of vitamins and cold medicines. None of the pharmacists had given their crumpled state a second glance. He wondered sourly how often they’d seen something similar.

Stretch wasn’t home when he arrived, but that was not unexpected. Even if he’d chosen to come directly home the bus ride was nearly twice as long as driving. He took the time to note the name of each medication in his excel worksheet along with possible side effects he’d read about in the accompanying paperwork. Then he put them aside, for now. One battle at a time.

An hour after he would have expected Stretch to be home, Edge texted him, a simply a query as to when he’d be here so Edge would know when to start dinner.

There was no reply so either he was still sulking, or he’d turned off his phone. A quick call was sent directly to voicemail. 

He waited another half an hour, finishing the last of his paperwork before he called Jeff to see if maybe Stretch had gone to the bookstore.

“No, I haven’t heard from him in a few days,” Jeff said. Papers rustled in the background, then the clatter of fingers on a keyboard. “Doesn’t look like he’s picked up anything while I wasn’t here, either. To be honest, I was going to call today, anyway, he hasn’t posted anything to twitter in a day or so. He okay?”

“He’s fine,” Edge said stiffly. If Stretch hasn’t told Jeff anything then Edge was hardly going to offer any of his secrets. He allowed Jeff to solicit a promise for a text from him when he found Stretch and ended the call. 

He tried he coffee shop next and the barista at the beanery had sounded a little harried when she’d answered the phone, but she’d softened immediately when Edge told her who it was. “No, we haven’t seen him in at least a week, is he doing okay?”

This time, he didn’t reply, only thanked her and hung up before finding Blue’s number in his contact list.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him,” Blue asked him calmly.

“He’s only two hours overdue,” Edge said. “I wouldn’t normally be concerned—"

“But he’s going through a bad patch,” Blue sighed. “I could tell when I met him for lunch this week. Relentless cheer and dark circles.”

“Yes,” Edge agreed, softly. He didn’t tell Blue about the nightmares, kept Stretch’s secrets but he didn’t doubt that Blue knew regardless. 

“Give it a little more time,” Blue said at last. “He’s probably outside somewhere smoking entirely too much. He does have a talent for holding a grudge.”

Yes. Edge knew that entirely too well.

Edge waited while the light outside faded into twilight. He made dinner in silence, he didn’t want his phone to ping and miss it because of the radio and when he finished, he realized didn’t have the appetite for it. He covered both plates carefully with foil and put them in the refrigerator, and went to sit on the sofa, his phone in his hands.

Another hour crawled by.

He unlocked his phone and searched through the apps. He’d never done this, had never allowed himself to. His urges to keep Stretch safe often clashed with his knowledge that Stretch’s tolerance for it only went so far, rightfully so. He’d never used the tracking app on his phone to search for his location. He used it now.

It informed him that Stretch’s phone was offline. 

He closed the app and called his brother.

Red picked up after two rings. “ebott mortuary, you snuff ‘em, we stuff ‘em.”

“Brother,” Edge said quietly, “I need your help.”

All humor dropped instantly. “tell me everything.” 

Red listened silently to the whole story, Edge left nothing out, the nightmares, Stretch’s troublesome week, their appointment at the therapist. He spoke to his brother until he could think of nothing else. 

“give me an hour.” Red hung up.

Edge waited, and he plugged in his phone to keep the battery charged. The house was eerily silent; Stretch always had something playing, the television, a podcast, even a fan when they slept. White noise, he called it, it helped settle his constantly running thoughts. 

Red called back less than twenty minutes later. “got a camera angle of him getting on the bus. still searching for where he got off. this isn’t london, ebott doesn’t have the cameras of a big city, but they have enough. i’ll find him.”

He didn’t promise. He didn’t need to, Edge heard it nonetheless.

The phone rang again ten minutes later but it was only Blue, “I know you’d call if you’d heard something, but I couldn’t help myself,” Blue confessed.

“Nothing yet. I asked Red to look into it,” Edge told him.

“If anyone can find him, it would be that reprobate you call brother,” Blue said with gentle humor, but Edge couldn’t bring himself to even smile. 

“He’s been going through a very bad time,” Edge said softly. There was question he did not want to ask. Edge refused to shy from it and asked it anyway; he loved Stretch with all his soul, but no one knew him better than his brother. “Do you think he’d hurt himself?”

Blue’s silence was not the reassurance he’d been hoping for. “I hope not,” he said at last. “It’s been a long time since he did anything like that. Before we came to this universe.”

That was a conversation for another time. For now, he’d gotten his answer even if it hadn’t been the one he wanted.

Edge promised to call if he heard anything and ended the call, waiting for either his brother or Stretch to call him. 

It was closing in on midnight. One of Stretch’s hoodies was hanging haphazardly on the back of a chair, likely tossed there the day before instead of being hung up like it was supposed to be. Edge picked it up and started to put it away. The fabric was soft and well-worn, and he ended up sitting back down on the sofa, pressing his face into the soft folds. It smelled like Stretch; cigarettes and the persistent sweetness of his magic.

The door opened softly and Edge looked up.

Stretch stood there, hands in his pockets, and he crumpled the moment their eye lights met. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

There was no artifice or manipulation him in now, only miserable sorrow. Edge didn’t care. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed him and held him tight. He didn’t cry, wasn’t sure if he even could, but he shuddered and clutched him. 

Thin fingers cupped his skull, cold against the bone. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to be gone so long and worry you. i’m an asshole but i’m not that much of an asshole.”

He didn’t ask where Stretch had been, he didn’t care; right now, he was warm and safe and in Edge’s arms. His knees felt weak, watery with relief, and when he sank to the floor, Stretch went with him, still whispering apologies. 

“oh, don’t,” he said, brokenly. “i’m so sorry, babe, i didn’t mean to—

“Don’t,” Edge said hoarsely. “I don’t care. You’re safe, that’s all I care about.”

“no, bullshit, that’s bullshit,” Stretch said angrily, wiping away tears. “you don’t get to forgive me like that! i got you all worked up just because i fell asleep on the damn bus.”

“You…what?” He drew away enough to look at Stretch. Embarrassed color was high in his cheekbones.

“so yeah, i was pissed off and tired when i left? i was gonna just ride around for a little while but i must’ve fallen asleep on the bus,” Stretch mumbled. “i guess the driver didn’t see me, i was all the way in the back. i woke up in the damn lot with all the lights off. had to teleport out and my phone was dead, so i couldn’t even take an uber. it took me twenty minutes just to get to someplace so i could call a cab.”

He fell asleep. On the bus. Edge couldn’t help laughing, a touch hysterically. “They’re supposed to check buses before the driver leaves.”

“yeah, well, i guess i wasn’t the only one asleep on the job.”

“I suppose you weren’t. What bus number were you on?” 

He asked it casually, but apparently not casually enough. Stretch shook his head. “uh no, not letting you get someone fired over this.”

That was fine, he’d get it from Red. 

He pulled Stretch to his feet and guided him to the sofa. There were calls he needed to make but for now, he needed a moment to feel Stretch in his arms. He basked in the feel of his light weight, the smell of cigarettes and magic, much stronger than the forgotten sweatshirt. Stretch buried his face into Edge’s shirt, his breathing ragged.

“i keep dreaming about you dusting,” Stretch confessed softly. He kept his face down, hidden, “i don’t know why it’s happening now, but i can’t make it stop. it’s like it happened back…back during the resets. instead of my bro, it’s you.”

“Love,” Edge didn’t know all of what had happened, but he knew enough, from soft confessions on dark nights that Stretch had seen his brother die. “I know you don’t want to hear this but—“ 

Stretch interrupted him, his voice small. “can you take me back thursday?” 

“Whatever you need,” Edge told him and pulled him in tightly. _Always_.

He closed his sockets briefly and breathed in deeply, then forced his arms to loosen. “I should make some calls.”

Stretch nodded, his skull scraping Edge’s shirt. “let me help. i’m betting you need me to talk to blue.” He sighed mournfully, “he’s gonna be pissed.”

“He loves you.”

“well, yeah, i know that,” Stretch pulled away and gave him a grin. “still gonna be pissed though.”

Reluctant as he was to allow Stretch out of his sight, he didn’t protest when he went to the kitchen to call Blue. He took the opportunity of privacy to call his brother and explain what had happened.

“well, shit,” Red snorted, “never thought about him not getting off the fucking bus. i mean, i did but not like that—"

“Yes, thank you, you can stop there,” Edge said sharply. He’d had more than enough thinking about Stretch dusting on those blasted buses. With his brother in the loop, he sent off the promised text to Jeff before switching off his phone. There was only one person he wanted to pay attention to right now and he was coming out of the kitchen even now.

He looked like he’d been crying again, his face still faintly damp. But he set his phone down gently, plucking his lighter from his pocket to fidget with it. “okay, where are those meds,” Stretch sighed, “i know you got them.”

“I did,” Edge agreed softly and Stretch made a face.

“I’m only taking the ones to help me sleep,” he warned.

“That’s fine.” Small steps

The medication seemed to work, alleviating Edge’s fears that it wouldn’t affect their physiology. Soon enough Stretch was drowsing in his lap. His skull rested on Edge’s femur, his hand curled laxly on Edge’s knee.

Edge didn’t sleep. He’d never needed as much as Stretch or Red, his high HP carrying him for far longer. He stayed awake and guarded over his lover’s dreams. Watched as he slept on peacefully for tonight. 

-finis


End file.
